


bodyguard

by orphan_account



Series: bodyguard au [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: :), AFTG Reverse Big Bang, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Andreil, Bodyguard AU, F/M, France - Freeform, Islamophobia, M/M, Older Andrew, Paris trip, Racism, allison and andrew are not portrayed romantically at all, and a politician, andrew and allison were married, andrew encounters homophobia a few times if that's a problem for anyone, andrew has kids, andrew has mild PTSD, but he's not neil's bodyguard, but they were very young and andrew did not know he was gay, dad andrew, dandrew, just so we're clear:, less emotionally clogged andrew and neil, neil is a nanny of sorts, no exy, no history of abuse, seth gordon is annoying, so if that's a probkem, terrorist attack, there's racism and it's bad and awful, they fuck obvs would it be mine if there wasnt gratuitous porn, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 00:44:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20573663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Andrew has always been a protector. He has always been the strongest, most resilient person in the room, the one who could take down the bad guy. His portfolio says as much- served in Afghanistan, Royal and Specialist Protection Command for the London Metropolitan Police. However, when things begin to crumble around him, people dropping like flies, Andrew must ask himself: Who's protecting Andrew?





	bodyguard

**Author's Note:**

> this was lowkey hard to write and i struggled with writing it a lot. my artist who is midreky on tumblr is wonderful and you should check out her art. idk if i'll write a second part, but i'll probably do a work where andrew is protecting neil or something because i love to see neil being an Ice Cold Power Bitch u feel. anyways enojy this trash
> 
> tw: racism, islamophobia, terrorism, andrew not realising his sexuality until later in life

**BODYGUARD **

**OCTOBER 11** **TH** **, 16:13, 2018**

Andrew sat on the high-speed train, index finger pressed to his lips, elbow pressed into the rubber crook of the windowsill. When he moved his arm to rub a hand over Vivienne’s wispy hair, there were deep red marks in the shape of the windowsill. He tried to let his daughter’s sleepy, angelic face calm him, unwind the sharp tension in his shoulders, but it couldn’t. He exhaled deeply, looking over to Nicky, avidly watching Ben10 on Andrew’s iPad. Both his son and his daughter had the same wispy, platinum blond hair that Andrew and his twin had had from birth- and the same amber eyes. With them both too young to discern any stable personality traits, he wasn’t sure if they had received anything genetically from his ex-wife, Allison.

Their divorce had been amicable, both deciding they were too young when they started and both were frustrated with the experiences they’d missed out on. That, combined with the constant arguing over Andrew’s service in the army, resulted in the logical separation and dissolution of their marriage. Despite the love lost between them, they both fiercely loved their kids, and despite the mutual tension every now and again, what with differing parenting styles reflecting both of their upbringings themselves. Andrew considered himself somewhat lucky. He had freedom to see and be with whom he so deigned, but also had a family, a life to return to. 

The train hit a little bump as it pulled into the next station, and Vivienneie nestled in under his arm, frowning slightly in her sleep as if reading his thoughts. Eternally fond, he bent to kiss her head, before looking out the window again. The platforms skidded past his vision, the lights all blurring together, slowly gaining definition as the train slowed. Wheels squeaked as it ambled to a stop, the guard announcing the doors opening. Andrew peered out almost thoughtlessly, until he saw a man in a large puffer jacket, tearing little packets and pouring the contents in a little tube, before getting onto the train.

Senses sharpened by the tell-tale behaviours, he watched the man take another seat in the carriage in front. Andrew gave a near-silent huff of exasperation, instinctively checking on both his kids- neither of them having moved an inch. Without being in the same carriage, and not wanting to uproot his quietened kids, he simply tried to keep an eye on the situation. Besides, Ally always told him he was too paranoid. Naturally, she blamed it on the ‘horrors of war’ that he had been too exposed to.

Movement around the carriage bathroom piqued his interest, and he lifted his gaze to look, casual and blank, as if just another faceless parent on the overnight train back to London. The door shuttled open, the man slipping inside. Andrew watched his wristwatch tick over minute after minute, feeling the anxiety crop up with each little jerk of the hands, the click of the gears he could only just discern through the white noise of the wheels rumbling over the tracks.

Eight minutes in, the guard walked up Andrew’s aisle, knocking firmly on the door, and received no answer. She tried again, knocking firmly and asking a clear question to the occupied cubicle. Anxiously she seemed to turn away, walking up to the next bathroom and repeating the action, although he couldn’t make out whether there was a response or not. His nerves and observation of the bathroom closest to him cresting, Andrew kept a firm eye towards the door, waiting with somewhat hope that it would open, and it would all be fine.

Once fifteen minutes from when the guard had attempted to open the bathroom had passed, and his leg was bouncing steadily, he took one last look at his kids. They were both now asleep, tiny blond heads leaning against the glass. Assessing the people around him, he saw a lady in the chairs opposite him with a toddler she had previously been attending to. He leaned towards the lady, grabbing her attention politely.

“Sorry to disturb you. Would you be okay minding my kids for a moment?” he asked, voice soft, so as to not disturb the asleep children. When the lady nodded, regarding the two, then said, equally as softly,

“Yeah, not a problem.”

He thanked her quietly before walking down the aisles, through carriage doors, down to the guard’s cabin. He scanned faces as he strode past the seats, walking confidently, clearly with purpose. As small as he was, standing at just over 5 feet tall, with a stony expression and a thick scar splicing his nape just above his sweater’s collar, not seemed game to get in his way. Sliding the door back, he stared down the dithering woman, whose hand lingered over the telephone-like microphone to announce something to the carriages. She looked even more anxious in here than she had in the carriages.

“Sergeant Andrew Minyard, Royal and Specialist Protection Command of the London Metropolitan Police Force,” he said, flicking out his identification. She looked a little stunned, before nodding in understanding. “I’d like to report some suspicious behaviour. And inquire as to any intel you may have gathered,” he said, voice clipped and brief.

The guard nodded. “There’s not much I can disclose in this public setting-” she began, but her radio crackled.

“219 to 652, sweeps have been done on all surrounding trains for any bomb materials or threats, any updates on the inaccessible bathroom? Over.”

She looked at Andrew as she said, “Negative. Suspicious behaviour reported from a passenger, over.”

The radio crackled again as the other conductor said, “Divert to depot near Bedfordshire. Do not stop in any stations. Over.”

“Affirmative, over.”

Andrew stared at her expectantly. “A bomb threat then?” he asked, looking at her, unimpressed.

“A suicide bomber, to be precise. I’m requesting your utmost secrecy-”

Andrew sighed and interjected. “With respect, ma’am, I am a trained officer. There may be desk-job civilians aboard this train, but I am not one of them. I am qualified to handle situations like this.” He handed her his phone. “Put your cell phone number in here. I’ll call you from the carriage.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide, lip quivering. Andrew swore if she was any more frightened, she would faint. “What do you intend on doing?”

“There’s an air-locked door perpendicular to the bathroom, correct?” he asked, and when she nodded, he continued. “When I say to, I want you to release the airlock on the door.”

In her understanding, she gave a soft gasp. “You don’t mean to-”

“What I mean is that I’ll be taking down this bastard one way or another,” he said, looking at her seriously. “Can you do exactly as I say?” he asked, eyes blazing.

“Yes, yes, I can,” she said, nodding and buzzing into her radio. “652 to central, passenger is 

with police force and attempting to diffuse situation. Over.”

Andrew had left before she had even finished speaking, walking casually enough not to alarm any other passengers, but clearly no wasting any time. Pulling out his phone, he called the guard’s cell phone.

“Alright, Mary,” he said calmly, remembering her name from her nametag earlier. “When I say, you release that airlock, alright?” he asked, voice even, even though he felt the anticipation and the tension quivering in his bones.

Waiting there at the bathroom door, his hand hovered over the switch that would open the door. He stood there anxiously waiting, feeling the hot waves of anticipation wash over him and make him jittery. He saw the lock indicator change from ‘occupied’ to ‘vacant’ in one swift click.

“Now, Mary, now!” he hissed into the phone and heard the distinct click and a whoosh of air from above the formerly-airlocked door. He saw the door swing open, a thud of footsteps, and-

He hesitated before hitting the button. The man from before, walking out with no device or explosives on him. He startled at the sight of Andrew, before settling into offended inconvenience. He shuffled on past, walking back to his seat. Andrew gave a relieved sigh, panting almost. He looked at the bathroom door, shut, but vacant- his heart rate settling back down somewhat. He walked back to his carriage, looking to the lady from before.

“I might be a little longer, is that alright?” he asked, fearful she might say no, but she just nodded easily.

“No worries, yeah.”

Andrew walked back up to the bathroom entrance, taking a deep breath. Pushing open the ‘vacant’ labelled door, expecting to find an empty toilet but daring not to assume- he let out a long exhale. 

The first thing he saw was fear- stricken everywhere on a tanned face, tear tracks breaking through dusty dirt mistying up her face. The wide eyes held his gaze, her whole figure trembling. It was such intense, overwhelming fear- the room reeked of it. 

It was only then,  _ only then _ , that Andrew noticed the explosives. Tightly packed bags of white powder, taped against a waist belt, black and red wires crawling up her chest and neck, the electronics making Andrew’s head spin. Her trembling hands clutched the handheld device to control its detonation. 

She gave a shocked, belated yelp, thumb nearing the tiny red switch that would blow the bomb and Andrew put his hands up immediately. 

“Hey, hey, I’m unarmed. I’m unarmed, alright? I just want to talk,” he said, hands still in the air. 

She looked incredibly wary, staring at him with such terror, and Andrew was sharply reminded of Vivienne after a nightmare, when she’d barely woken, and still thought she was in a dream. He stared at her, eyes open, arms up. 

“My name’s Andrew, Sergeant Andrew Minyard. I just want to talk to you for a little bit.” 

She nodded jerkily, lip trembling. Her hands were a vice on the metal of the handheld device. She barely moved, seemingly frozen in place, legs trembling. 

“You’re afraid, you’re scared, I see that. I’m scared too, see?” he said, lowering his hand at sloth-speed to show her how he shook. She watched his hand like it was the bomb, before giving another of her jerky nods. 

“What’s your name?” he asked, gentle but firm. He made himself look as non-threatening as possible. 

“N-Nadia,” she said, thick accent almost making Andrew need to ask again. 

Andrew nodded slowly, looking at her with full understanding. “Was that your husband who walked out?” he asked, and when she nodded he said, “Nadia, he wants you to die,” he said, looking at the bomb purposefully. “I’m not even married anymore, but my ex-wife doesn’t want me to die,” he said, even if that wasn’t strictly true most of the time. “Nadia, listen to me, I don’t want you to die. If you could just pass me the device-” 

Her finger made a dart for the red switch and Andrew put his hands up again. “No, no! Nadia, please, please,” he said, staring at her imploringly. “Please, Nadia, look out the carriage window. Please, you’ll see my two kids. Vivienne, who’s nine and Nicky, who’s six.” 

She shifted to look at them, and Andrew watched her resolve crumble. “Nadia, listen to me. I won’t hurt you, or let anyone else hurt you. Your husband put you up to this, and I will not see you die as a result,” he said, slow and calm. “I’m going to call the guard, and tell her to evacuate the carriages. It’ll be just us, Nadia. Just me and you, and no one is going to get hurt,” he assured her, making as many promises as he knew he could. “I know you don’t want to hurt anyone. Especially not my kids,” he said, and she nodded again, giving a pitiful sniff. 

He reached for his phone, slowly enough that she knew nothing would happen. He dialled Mary again. 

“Hello, Mary, I’ve got Nadia with me in the lavatory in carriage six. She does not want to hurt anyone, but she has an active explosive on her person. Please evacuate the carriages either side, and inform the officials,” he said, not dropping eye contact with Nadia, as she shook so hard Andrew almost thought the train was still moving. He listened to Mary’s feeble response, and hung up. 

“Okay, Nadia. Your husband will be gone, all the children… Then it’s just us. And we’re not going to hurt each other,” he reiterated, and she nodded slowly. 

Once the carraiges had been emptied, four armed counter-terrorism officers charged up the aisle. “Arms up! Hands where we can see!” 

Andrew shook his head. “Nadia. You don’t have to listen to them, Nadia, no, no, no, you don’t want to hurt anyone, do you Nadia?!” he yelled, watching her panic and her thumb near the red switch. She hovered for just a moment, the big guns pointed at her, but Andrew tried to keep her in firm eye contact. “Don’t listen to them. Listen to me,” he said, keeping her body out of shot range with his own. “I’m standing in front of you, and those bullets might go through both of us, but they won’t shoot me to get to you, I promise, Nadia,” he assured her. The anticipation, the panic, the yelling of the officer. 

“Get out of the way, Sergeant, your assistance is no longer required, please remove yourself from the situation!” the officer yelled and Andrew shook his head.

“Not until bomb control gets here!” he yelled, not daring move. 

“Sergeant, if you do not co-operate, you will be shot!” 

“Get bomb control here!” 

“Permission to shoot civilian!” 

“Nadia, listen to me, okay, you and I won’t get hurt, but you need to prove you’re innocent, you need to show them you don’t want to detonate your bomb, alright?” he said, panic making his voice rise. “Just drop the hand device, and put your arms up, then you’ve surrendered and they can’t shoot, alright?” he said, and when the click of the gun and the shouting through the radios confirmed the worst, he surged forward. 

Thankfully, at the same time Nadia put her arms up. Clutched against his body, he spun them slowly, the device visible in her raised hand. Andrew pulled them from the bathroom and into the tiny space between carriages. The officers, the snipers, anyone with a gun could not shoot a willingly surrendered person. Andrew clutched her tight and made sure they couldn’t get a clear shot of her regardless. 

“Get. Bomb. Control,” he grunted out, Nadia’s shivering body seeming to finally give out into his embrace, her arms still raised. 

“Request for bomb control,” he finally heard the officer say into her radio, and Andrew took a breath. 

By the time bomb control had arrived and deactivated the device, Nadia had gone pale in the face and thrown up three times from the shock. Andrew had made sure the officers couldn’t hurt her until she was taken into custody, watching her husband get hand-cuffed roughly. 

“That won’t be you. You co-operated,” he said, nodding to her like he would a comrade, before the authorities took him too for questioning. 

Really, Andrew just wanted to go home. 

Wherever that was. 

**OCTOBER 12TH, 3:29, 2018**

  
  


When Andrew called into work at some ungodly hour that night, explaining he wouldn’t be able to make it in as he had to stay overnight in a different county with Allison and the kids, he was not expecting the sympathy he received from his manager’s secretary. 

“Why, doll, that is not a problem, I will write a sticky note down for Mrs Cobbs and she’ll leave you be. Have a good night, dear, get some rest.” 

He was grateful for it, he supposed, and will be even more so when he doesn’t have to wake up before dawn to trek into the office building. No doubt he’d be riding the desk for a while until the whole train thing blew over. 

He sipped idly at the scalding tea, standing in the darkness of Alli’s kitchen. He always knew that her salary was higher than his, and her family’s money always accounted for some of her possessions- the kitchen was provincial with marble tops, sourced from some rare rock face in South America. It hardly compared to the dingy studio apartment in Essex that Andrew could barely afford as it were. 

Allison had hardly been remorseful when she declared that she was filing for divorce. Andrew had found out through a passive aggressive email from her assistant to his Lieutenant at the time. Andrew couldn’t remember feeling anything when he heard the news. 

She appeared at the sink then, giving Andrew a jolt in his heart. She’d always moved creepily quietly. 

“Jesus, Allison,” he grunted, looking at her widely. She grabbed a mug and a bottle of wine, not looking at him. He didn’t expect anything less from him. He waited for the slosh of the liquid falling into the mug to stop, but instead there was wine everywhere, staining the white marble red. “All-”

The bottle shattered on the ground with whatever liquid that was left in it. The woman was shaking with rage, looking at Andrew. 

“You barely even flinched. Even now. Did you flinch when you decided to put your children in danger because of your hero complex?” she whispered, voice shaking with rage, her pale legs dripping with the red wine from the splash of the bottle shattering. Even in the low light and shaking with fear and anger, Andrew thought she was beautiful. “You couldn’t, for one second, let the people do their jobs. No, Andrew, you had to jump in and play the hero,” she raged on, a forest fire annihilating the lush undergrowth of their relationship. 

“Allison, the train would have blown up. We would have been dead if I had not-” 

She then threw her mug to the ground in fierce anger. “No! No, you wouldn’t be dead, because they had people coming onto the train. They would have shot the terrorist bitch and it would have been fine. Instead, you left my kids in the care of a fucking stranger so you could go save someone who was trying to kill you? Why? Because you feel guilty? You’re so caught up after spending seven years murdering people like her that now you need to protect her? Saving one terrorist doesn’t take back your time in Afghanistan, Andrew!” 

His throat locked up at that, ashen and paled, staring at her in horror. His heart thumped, a drumbeat against his skull. He couldn’t speak, he just stared at the blood-like liquid dripping down the kitchen. 

“Oh, of course, just shut down. Go have a fucking panic attack and disappear by morning. You’re so fucking predictable, Andrew,” she practically growled, shaking her head and pressing her fingers to her temple. “Get out of here. I’ll get Mari to drive the kids to school. Just get out of my fucking house,” she sighed, walking through the mess and up the stairs, leaving Andrew reeling in the kitchen. 

As soon as she was gone, he was clinging to the stupidly expensive bench, nausea making him sway. There was no relief in his breathing, the hyperventilated breaths making his head sinking to the ground, eyes going blurry. And there, lying amongst shattered glass and red wine, Andrew wished he had blown up with Nadia anyways. 

**OCTOBER 25TH, 9:00, 2018 **

Andrew had thought that he’d be riding the desk for longer, but he didn’t dare complain when the yellow assignment folder was dropped onto his desk. Later, in the musty old office of Mrs Cobbs, he understood.

A fucking politician. He may as well be taking a stroll through Hyde Park. 

“It is a very simple assignment, but I do not doubt it will help you regain confidence in the field. Your skill in paperwork, although unparalleled, does not equate to your skill in armed protective services; we decided to would be a suitable assignment for your readjustment.” 

“You’re talking about me like I’ve taken six weeks off for a hip replacement.” 

The greying, no-nonsense lady wasn’t having any of Andrew’s sass. “You are now a recognisable figure to the public. You have given yourself hero status and as a result you are best kept in covert media coverage- still relevant, and enough to show people that they can trust their police to keep them safe, but not in the limelight. If people thought you were a civilian doing a policeman’s job, we would be in significant shit.” 

Andrew opened his mouth, but she interjected. 

“Take the assignment or you are doing the pro-bono filing,” was her final admission. With the threat of extensive paperwork, Andrew would do just about anything, so he nodded, took the manila folder and began to read. 

**—**

Curled up on his couch, Andrew genuinely considered quitting and running away to the German countryside. He tossed Seth Gordon’s profile onto the cheap wooden table in front of him and stared down at it. 

He hated this assignment and he’d barely started. 

Gordon was an arrogant, faux-charismatic and pompous trust fund baby, using his Daddy’s money to get him into parliament. There were mild terrorist threats against him due to his outlandish remarks about Britain’s involvement in the Afghani war; statements that made Andrew’s skin crawl with memory. 

He took a deep breath but the action brought him little relief, at least, not as much as the proceeding sip of scotch did. Taking a drag from a cigarette, Andrew picked up his phone amidst the empty alcohol bottles. Blankly, he looked for Allison’s number. 

The dial tone was empty and hollow until her honey sweet voice filled his ear. 

“You’ve reached Allison Reynolds. Unfortunately I’m not available right now but please leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you.” 

He dialed again. 

“You’ve reached Alliso-“

Again. 

“You’ve reached-“

Again. 

“Andrew, what?” came a loud exclamation from the phone. 

“Just tell me how the kids are,” he rasped out, drunk and sad. There was a pause. 

“Andrew, you need to stop calling me when you’ve been drinking.” 

“Fuck, Alli, what did I do?” he whispered, elbows sinking to rest on the table, hand smushing his face as it slid into his hair. 

“Andrew, you’re drunk and being delusional. We split because neither of us were happy, and you needed more time for your job than you could sparr for the kids,” she said, tired but a little placating. 

“I never should have gone to Afghanistan,” he whispered, the blackness in the corners of his mind making his words feel like tar. 

“Maybe. But there’s nothing you can do to change that,” she said. “Andrew, the kids are asleep and they need to go to school tomorrow. I have to go to work, and so do you.” 

“What if the divorce was a mistake?” 

The question was followed by a deep sigh. “It wasn’t, Andrew. I’m with someone new, now. It’s starting to get serious. Andrew, don’t confuse how you used to feel with how you now feel. You don’t love me. You don’t miss me. You miss the comfort you experienced in the time we were married, Andrew. Get some sleep. Don’t call me again.” 

The beeping to signify the end of the call was all too familiar. Andrew let the phone fall to the hardwood floor and stared at the wall until his 5:00 alarm went off.

  
  
  
  
  


**OCTOBER 30TH, 10:16, 2018**

Andrew was stood at the corner of the boardroom, idly listening to the conversation, watching the shark-like politicians gesticulating verbosely at Seth Gordon, who looked completely unmoved by anything single word said to him. Andrew stood in firm position. The room was completely glass, which made Andrew distinctly uncomfortable with how easy it would be to break into the room. 

Seth Gordon was a tall, former-jock built man with thick dark hair and eyebrows, looking just as imposing and arrogant as he was. He was a little on the lankier side, but there was muscle visible under the shirt, covered in a layer of fat that had accumulated over the years. Andrew had analysed his movements through CCTV camera footage, interviews, everything- Andrew wanted to know exactly how this guy ticked so that he could best protect him. Andrew recognised the athleticism in his movements, the way he jogged away from paparazzi. He saw it all. 

“Mr Gordon, please. Consider that in this tumultuous time in politics, you should tread carefully around Britain’s public. If you gain a reputation for being impulsive, you will lose respect…” 

Half listening, Andrew’s head hurt in a dull throb, but nothing in his stature gave it away. He felt a hot lick of shame curl through his belly at the memory of his phone call to Allison last night. What had started as a request to speak to his kids had devolved into a tired reminder that he was alone. Idly, he stared at the television in the corner of the room, the sound having been muted. 

Andrew’s job kept him in weird hours, so he never watched the news, but the little red symbol he knew meant ‘LIVE’ made his heart jump. There was a building- or more, the wreckage of a building, Allison’s building. He didn’t move, or alert anyone in the room, but instead stared intently at the screen. He waited for the list of names that indicated fatalities, but Seth was up and out of the board room before he could see it. 

He kept focused but the anticipation had his heart in his throat. He received the call barely five minutes later. 

“Andrew, I know you’re on assignment, but there’s been an attack on Allison’s building. She died on impact,” came the smooth voice of Mrs Cobbs’ secretary. “You’re being replaced for the day so you can handle your affairs.” 

He kept eyes on Seth as he talked. “I don’t need-” 

“Andrew, Mrs Cobbs has specifically requested that you be removed from duty as soon as possible. She believes the situation is sensitive. Besides, shouldn’t you go and collect your kids from school?” she said, clearly waiting for the shoe to drop. 

“I’ll handle it,” he said, voice giving a weak little tremble, “but I won’t move from position until the replacement gets here,” he said. If he focused on the situation too much, he’d fucking crumble. 

The secretary simply nodded. “Of course. Take care of yourself, doll.” 

Seth was watching him like he was a barely restrained animal, eager to prod. 

“The missus caught in the fire on Regent?” he said, voice a snarl, amused and cruel. 

Andrew barely reacted. “I will be replaced by a very capable officer from the agency. I will not leave position until they get here.” 

Andrew didn’t respond to whatever jibe was surely coming his way, only to stand and bury his emotions as best he could. He’d never admit it, but the hardest urge to suppress was the one telling him to flip open his ID wallet and look at the photo from their wedding. He wasn’t even sure why he kept the photo there, except that now it was burning a hole in his pocket. 

Time slipped away as he followed Seth around the offices, watching him yell at interns and return cups of coffee because they weren’t sweet enough. Everyone in this building seemed to fear or revere the man, the air solemn and buzzing now that there had been yet another confirmed terrorist attack. When, in a meeting, Seth turned to him, he barely noticed. 

“Shame you weren’t there to stop this Muslim bitch blowing herself up,” he said, and the officials surrounding either gave a tight, awkward chuckle or stared at him in disbelief. Andrew offered only, 

“If I had been there, sir, I would have done all I could to save lives.”

Seth scoffed and rolled his eyes, muttering, “How noble. God, your hero complex is suffocating,” and resumed his meeting. Andrew thought the claim was a little out of touch, considering he’d been on this job for less than a week. 

Andrew waited impatiently for this replacement to show up, staring at the clock approached two in the afternoon, wondering if his kids were peacefully oblivious, playing hopscotch in the school yard or learning about insects. 

He wondered if they knew their mother was gone, or if telling them was left up to him. 

“Took you long enough,” he said to the much taller, much bulkier Jean Moreau; he was one of the agency’s youngest yet oldest members. He’d been in the agency since he finished his enlistment with the Navy, and Andrew had found both another gruff, grumpy guy under thirty and an unlikely friend. 

“Not like I had much notice,” he responded, looking down at Andrew with a swirl of concern and strength. “If you need-” 

“Gordon is a dickweed, but gives up once you don’t respond. Just ignore him,” he said, uncaring if Seth heard him or not. “He hasn’t left the building today. Watch out for the interns.” 

And with the brief discussion and exchange of information, he was a bat out of hell. 

He drove fast enough that at points he thought the sirens on the road were for him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

He watched the road as the whole world melted, head spinning and making him grip the steering wheel. He was focused, sharp, ready- but he saw Allison in her white dress and her mother’s gloves every time he closed his eyes. Pulling into the curb of Meadowlands Primary School, Andrew felt his throat clog up with the knowledge of what he had to do. The chipped yellow-painted bricks leading to the front office were slick with rain underneath Andrew’s black police boots. He felt like an usurper here, a dark force in an area filled with so much light. 

He walked into the dinky little front office, looking at the young boy sat right at the front desk. Probably one of the usual receptionist’s sons doing volunteer work or something. Andrew barely spared a moment’s thought to it. 

“I’m here to pick up my kids,” he said, looking at the kid with long curly hair. He stammered. 

“O-of course. What are their names?” 

“Vivienne and Nicky Minyard,” he responded, shoulders coiled with tension. He stared at the open plan office spaces and thought idly of Seth Gordon. He heard the kid’s voice ring out across the playground speakers, summoning his kids to the front office. 

“You can take a seat, sir, if you could just fill out this paperwork… Vivienne and Nicky are actually registered under Ms. Allison Reynold’s name, so your going to have to get her permission to take them-” 

“Who’s next on the list?” 

“Pardon?” the kid asked, looking like he was about to wee himself at any moment. 

“Who’s the next name of contact? Ms. Reynolds is not contactable,” Andrew gritted out, not thinking too hard on that or he’d punch something in this little office. 

“Uhh, Andrew Minyard,” he said, looking at the paper booklet of contact information. Andrew showed him his ID wallet, the same one he used for the police, to prove his identity. “O-oh. Of course. Sorry, sir-” 

“Don’t apologise. It’s good to know you’re keeping them safe,” Andrew said idly, more kindly than he meant, purely because he saw two blond heads running towards the big doors. 

“Daddy!” Nicky shrieked when he saw him, Vivienne running directly into his arms. He knelt and cuddled them, kissing both their heads. 

Ever clever, Vivienne looked at him curiously and brushed raindrops from his hair as he kneeled to match their height. “Why are you here, Daddy? It’s still an hour until you usually come to get us. And you never pick us up from school. Only from Mummy’s house.” 

He kissed her temple and ruffled Nicky’s hair as he tucked himself into Andrew’s side. 

“I’ll tell you everything once we get home, alright? But how about we stop for some McDonald’s on the way home?”

The kids, in their childish and blissful ignorance, tugged at Andrew’s heartstrings as any concerns flew out of their heads. Andrew kissed Nicky’s cheek as he hitched him up onto his hip, holding his son a little more closely than he usually would. Nicky never minded the extra affection in Andrew’s weaker moments. 

He held Vivienne’s hand as he led them to the car park, tucking Nicky into the car seat and not arguing with Lyla when she took the front seat- Alli never let her do that, but Andrew could make an exception. 

Two Happy Meals (with lemonade- also an Allison boycott), useless plastic toys and a large, strong coffee later, Andrew sat the two little kids down in Allison’s house. 

“I need to talk with you,” Andrew said, going into Nicky’s room, Vivienne sitting on his bed and trying to read him a book. She was a doting, disciplined little thing, and too clever for her own good, but Andrew never missed how much she loved helping others learn. Especially Nicky, who seemed to be struggling with reading. 

Andrew sat and pulled Nicky into his lap, gently holding out the paw of Mr Beans- a scruffy, greying, ratty plush dog. Nicky took him gratefully and snuggled into Andrew’s chest contentedly. He reached out for Vivienne, who also, after a moment’s contemplation, rested against his chest, Andrew’s arms fitting around her. 

Andrew’s words failed him, but he managed to utter, “I love you both very much,” very quietly. Vivienne gave the most gentle nod- not just that she already knew, but an acknowledgement of the confirmation. “Mummy… she worked in a very tall, very big building. And today, some bad, bad people flew a plane into that building. She,” Andrew took a deep, schooled breath, “She died on impact, and there was nothing that could have been done.” 

The first one to react was Vivienne. “No.” 

Andrew heart cracked in two, bleeding out for this tiny, innocent child who’d lost her Mummy to the very thing Andrew swore to protect them from. 

“No, no, Daddy, no!” she screamed, ripping herself from Andrew’s embrace and throwing her fists into his thigh. “No, no, please, she’s coming home, she promised to make us the pasta she makes, she’s coming back,” she wailed, screaming her little baby voice out until it was gone, just her rusty voice, crying into Andrew’s hip. 

Andrew gently pet her head, letting her vent. He could even feel her battering, nor could he feel the wetness on his cheeks. 

Not until the ratty, chewed end of Mr Beans’ paw. “Don’t cry. She’ll be back, Neni. Right, Daddy?” 

And Andrew had to look at his baby, the same one he cradled in his arms and for the third time in his life fell so madly in love, and tell her, “No, Nick. She’s not.” 

Mr Beans was curled back up into Nicky’s arms, becoming the victim of raindrops, salted with grief. 

Andrew held his kids in his arms and cooed to them until they calmed, Nicky eventually knocking himself out, and Vivienne exhausted. 

Andrew stared at the photos on Nicky’s bedroom wall and finally, finally, let himself grieve. 

  
  


**NOVEMBER 28th, 8:14, 2018**

“Neni, we’ve been over this, you can’t come to work with me, you have to go to school,” Andrew said, voice as placating as it ever got. 

It had almost been a month, and Vivienne still refused to leave the house. 

It had almost been a month, and Andrew had to quit his job and pick up low-level security jobs- a day shift at an office building and a night shift at a museum and if he ever got to sleep, eat, or see his kids, he felt guilty for not being somewhere he was getting paid. 

Standing there in his dead wife’s kitchen, hugging his sobbing daughter to his chest while his son watched cartoons, Andrew recalled something his brother had said, the day after Allison died. 

_ “At some point, you’re going to have to accept help from someone. Kevin knows a few people, has a few connections. He’s got a friend that needs work around Alli’s… well, your place. You can’t do this alone.”  _

His resolve crumbled. His eyebags weighed him down until he was sitting on the couch next to Nicky, with Vivienne clutching his neck. 

Nicky crawled into his lap, looking up at him with those big, innocent eyes. “Are you certain Mummy isn’t coming home?” 

Andrew brushed his hair back from his little forehead and nodded. “Yeah, buddy, I’m certain.” 

“But I want her to.” 

“Me too,” he sighed, staring at the cartoons idly, feeling exhaustion wave over him. “Me too.” 

—

The front door slamming had Andrew up and clutching his hip, in search of his pistol, scratching, desperate- 

he didn’t carry a weapon anymore. 

He stared at the entrance and waited, eyes scanning to find his kids when Aaron’s big, hulking boyfriend walked through the frame. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Kevin?” Andrew asked, poorly masking the relief in his voice. 

“Aaron is just getting the things out of the car, he told me to come in here make sure you weren’t dead,” he said, voice low and gravelly and holding as much intelligence as you would expect from a pro athlete. 

“Clearly I am not dead.” 

“Well, we know that now, but when you didn’t show up at work and the kids didn’t show up at school, and no one had heard from you in the past 36 hours, we thought-“

Andrew had forgotten to call in sick, for him and the kids, he’d forgotten to call Nicky, his cousin Nicky, to check in, because he usually did that on a Tuesday and today was Wednesday, and he’d forgotten yesterday, and God, he felt dizzy, he’d forgotten to make dinner, too, which meant the kids hadn’t eaten, and- 

“By God, Andrew, you look fucking awful,” Aaron admonished, thrusting bags of shopping into Kevin’s arms and offhandedly directioning him to the kitchen. Andrew might have been exhausted, dehydrated and starving but he didn’t miss the affection in Kevin’s eyes as he did Aaron’s bidding without hesitation. 

“We look the same, you ugly bastard,” Andrew sighed, barely holding on. 

“Uncle Aaron!” came the happy chirp of Nicky, throwing himself into the arms of Aaron, who picked him up with ease, chatting to him gently. 

Andrew remembered when his brother had refused to hold Vivienne for the first four years of her life, so, so fearful for fucking something up. But much like Andrew, Aaron had softened with age and time, come to love the children in a way that mimicked Andrew’s but was different. Andrew could wholly trust his children, his precious children, with his brother. 

And it was for that reason, and that reason only, that he sank back down onto the couch and buried his head in his hands, blinking away the stars he saw. Distantly, he heard Aaron palm off Nicky to Kevin. 

“Andrew, I’ve invited someone to come meet you and the kids. His name is Neil, he’s a full time nanny, trained and everything,” Aaron started, clearly anticipating a bad reaction, but Andrew was too tired. Gently, Aaron continued. “I’ve known him as one of Kevin’s friends from his Exy team, but he got injured and had to leave the sport, and went into childcare. I checked the centre he trained at, all his references, he seems to really care about kids and their wellbeing Andrew-“ 

“No.” 

“Andrew, listen to me. I told you a month ago that you would need help. Instead of finding it on your own terms, you tried to juggle everything and now it’s impacting your kids. They’re not well either, Andrew. You can’t take proper care of them like this. Wake the fuck up and get some damn help,” he said sternly, looking down at Andrew. “He’s coming in an hour, be ready.”

Andrew got up calmly, walked up the stairs, into the master bedroom, into the ensuite. He stared at himself, the ugly, ragged man who hadn’t shaved, slept or eaten properly in weeks. He saw his kids, an exaggerated, malnourished version of them burned into his eyelids and he felt nothing until the hot, slick slide of blood down his fist, and the stream of tears down his face. 

“Fuck,” he swore to himself, each fragment of shattered glass piecing itself into Andrew’s vision until he saw the broken mirror, the distorted image of himself. 

“For fuck’s sake, Andrew. Just let help you,” Aaron said resignedly, taking Andrew’s hand and guiding him away from the bathroom. 

Blindly following behind Aaron, Andrew barely felt it when his brother pulled glass from his hand, stitched it with a medical kit fetched by Kevin, wrapped with gauze. He let himself be sat on the couch with a cup of coffee and some stupid fucking protein thing that Kevin made and too tired to forget to be mean to him Andrew thanked him for it. 

The stupid idiot went immediately to Aaron to gush to him about it and Andrew felt marginally warmer that someone wasn’t fucking miserable because of him. 

God, who was he? Fucking Jesus?

“Definitely not,” Aaron said idly, looking at him with thinly veiled concern. 

Kevin had taken his kids outside to run around and get some air and Andrew felt his throat clog up at how happy they were to not be so fucking miserable. 

“Thank you, for coming today,” Andrew said softly, sipping the tea and grimacing because he hated tea. 

“You’re off caffeine. I’m not giving you any of that legal heroin until you can function like a normal person,” Aaron chided, before softening, “and you’re welcome.” 

—

Andrew found it hard to hate him, even if he wanted to. 

Icy blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he spoke to Vivienne and Nicky, long eyelashes that batted harmlessly, but scars that marred his skin that told a different story. His cheeks were rosy, but blotchy, and he smiled in a way that had the vaguest traces of hesitance, like he was still learning how to. Neil Abram Josten. 

He was fucking beautiful, and Andrew couldn’t bring himself to hate him. Andrew stared at him over the passport, birth certificate and other documents. 

“Aaron called into all my references on your behalf but you’re welcome to call again. I’m happy to discuss pricing at a later time, I understand you’re in need of someone like me more than I’m in need of money,” he said softly, looking at Andrew like he might breakdown at any point. Andrew had no intention of doing that. 

“I’m going to trial you for the week. If my children even utter a negative, you’re gone. If I have any reason to believe you’re hurting them in any way, I’ll have you locked away faster than you can run away. If you can make it through the week, you’re hired, payments starting at your regular rate from 12pm today. I have a guest bedroom next to the master. You’re welcome to use it as you see fit, should you see through the week. Preferably, you would live here with us or be with us from 6am to 9pm at night unless I’m not home until later. I work unpredictable hours and can sometimes be gone for close to 20 hours at a time. If I or Aaron are not here, then you must be here to look after Nicky and Vivienne. I want to a way to track your whereabouts when you have the kids, whatever method you believe works best for you. And if ever, I repeat,  _ ever _ , I have reason to believe you’re hurting my kids, I will have you locked up. Have I made myself clear?” he said, voice rapid and clear, firm and cold as steel. 

Neil nodded, not easily intimidated but clearly serious. “You have, sir,” he said politely. “I will have a write up of a contract sent to you by the agency and you can make any amendments you like. I’ll need to return to agency briefly today, but after that, I’ll officially be employed here on a trial basis for the next seven days, and then suggesting I pass the trial, a permanent residential caretaker for an six year old and a nine year old?” he asked, typing on a little tablet as he spoke but never breaking eye contact. 

“That is correct.” 

Neil stopped typing and stood up. “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Minyard. I look forward to getting know you and your children more throughout the week.” 

Just as Andrew shook his hand, Nicky bounded to his side. “Daddy, can Neil stay? While you were talking Kevin showed me pictures of his car. It’s so cool, Daddy, it’s like our car!” 

Andrew put a protective hand around his son’s head and looked to Neil, who crouched down to Nicky. 

“I’m gonna be around for the next little while, Nicky. Is that alright with you?” he asked, keeping his distance, but gentle and never condescending towards him. 

“YesofcoursepleasecanIrideinyourcarnexttime?” he gushed out, eyes practically love hearts for Neil. 

“We’ll have to see about that one, kiddo,” he said brushing it off with ease and genuine happiness. “Is Vivienne around?” he asked Nicky, Andrew watching them interacting without missing a beat. 

“She goes by Neni. She doesn’t like Vivienne anymore. She’s upstai-“ 

“I’m right here,” she said, the very image of her father- tiny, cold, and untrusting to the core. 

“Can I call you Neni?” Neil asked, not need to crouch for her as he wasn’t that tall. 

She analysed him for a moment before nodding slowly. She seemed to be slowly, incrementally letting her guard down. 

“Is alright with you if I’m around for the next little while, Neni?” he asked, voice gentle. 

She narrowed her eyes. “Can you teach me some Exy?” she asked, bargaining. Andrew couldn’t have been prouder, and felt his lips turn up when he heard an indignant scoff from Kevin in the kitchen doorway. 

Distantly, “Does she know I’m the best player in the literal world. My mum literally made Exy.” 

“I’m sure she does, babe, but she’s nine. Don’t take it too personally,” came Aaron’s voice. 

Andrew tuned out because no doubt they’d be kissing in less than a breath, his attention refocusing on Neil, who was smiling down at Nicky and Vivienne. 

Soon Neil was out the door, and Andrew bundled Vivienne up in his arms. She accepted the hug warmly and held tight. 

He hoped vainly that she never stopped hugging him. For someone who had loathed physical contact for so much of his life, he had never thought he would come to crave it from his own children. 

In saying that, he’d never thought he’d be having his own children either. 

For both those things, he had his cousin Nicky to thank. 

**DECEMBER 5th, 16:02, 2018 **

Neil popped his head out of the kitchen when he heard the front door open. “Tea?” he offered, chipper as always. 

Andrew nodded slightly, still wary of the other man. 

The past week had been… odd, in a word. 

Neil was quiet, hardworking, present and easy going. He was gentle with the kids, always gentle underneath everything, but at times, he was stern, and other times he was sweet as sugar. He patched up Neni’s knee after she’d stacked it playing Exy, and Andrew was pleasantly surprised at how simple the whole situation was. 

Neil calmed her down from her blubbering tears, patched up her knee, and made her giggle by the end of the whole ordeal. 

With Nicky, he seemed the hoard the world’s supply of patience. Nicky had never been the brightest child, and very sensitive- but Neil took in his stride and always found a way to build the boy up instead of tear him down. He helped him with his words when necessary, but never enough to make him feel silly or dumb. 

With Andrew, however… With Andrew he was kind, witty, unashamed and clever. He never passed an opportunity to help or pitch in, and with that always came an accidental opinion 

Andrew had been cooking dinner (they alternated based on when Andrew was home) and used a particular vintage of chardonnay in the risotto. Neil had been extremely helpful- chopping, cleaning, making himself useful- but then came, “I find the whites from the South to be too rich for Italian cooking.” 

Andrew was taken aback at his boldness, at how clear and honest he was. But if there was anything Andrew hated, it was a liar- and Neil seemed to be the antithesis of a liar. 

Even if his initial trepidation had worn down over the past seven days, and the glowing response from his children had settled his anxieties just a little bit, Andrew was still a little wary. 

“It’s because you think he’s pretty, isn’t it?” Aaron had suggested, no judgement in his voice. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Andrew sniped back, but the only ridiculous thing happening was the slight heat that gathered in his cheeks. 

“Andrew oh my god,” Aaron laughed, sipping his beer and grinning. “You refuse to accept that a good person can be that attractive.” 

Andrew had pushed him off the chair, only to have Kevin come rushing in to his aid. 

Neil set the mug down in front of Andrew, checking the time. “It’s 9:20. I’ll probably head off-“ 

“You can stay,” Andrew said softly, picking up the tea. He still didn’t like it, but if he wasn’t allowed coffee, he needed another vice. And he’d found a strawberry one that tasty like a lolly. 

“That’s very kind of you, but I-“ 

“I mean your job, Neil. I said seven days, didn’t I? You can stay, you passed. The first weeks’ payments should be sent through by tomorrow morning,” he said, looking at him pointedly. “Goodnight, Neil.” 

The redheaded gaped for a moment before collecting his bearings and walking out the door, saying a brief thank you. 

Andrew sipped his tea idly as he stared at the long closed door. 

Maybe Aaron was right. 

Maybe Neil was different. 

**DECEMBER 24th, 22:49, 2018 **

Andrew tossed his keys onto the marble bench of the kitchen, half surprised to not find Neil in the kitchen, but Andrew was home exceptionally late and Neil had hopefully crashed in the spare bedroom. 

He’d only ever done it once, and he’d slept in his clothes on the made up bed, with the door wide open. Andrew had confirmed that he could indeed use the spare pyjamas or bring his own, and mess up the bed and even close the door if he liked. 

Neil, it turned out, was reading on the couch, wholly focused on his book. Andrew made some eggnog (with extra brandy. It was one of those nights.) and set a mug down in front of Neil. The house had been lightly decorated (Andrew suspected Neil and the kids during their Christmas break so far) with even a little Christmas tree in the corner. Andrew had never really celebrated it, and Allison had always taken the kids to the mountains for Christmas. 

Begrudgingly, Andrew would admit that the lights and the cinnamon smell of the house was nice. 

Andrew sat at the other end of the couch and filed through NDAs for the museum’s high profile guests and other paperwork stuff. 

It was comfortable, Andrew decided. Domestic. It was their little arrangement; if Neilwas awake when Andrew got home, they would drink something together, talk about the kids, and then either go into separate bedrooms or Neil would drive home, although the former had seemed to be the more common in the past weeks. 

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Neil pointed out gently, not looking up from his book. 

“Indeed,” Andrew replied simply, neither looking up from his work. 

“Would you like me to be here tomorrow?” 

Then, Andrew did look up. “Surely you have some other place to be than here,” he said, surprise etched into his voice. 

“Not particularly. If it’s worth mentioning, I would like to be here. Nicky has asked me to be.” 

Finally, blue eyes met Andrew’s. “Well then, I don’t think you’ve got much choice, do you?” he said, soft in way he only ever was when talking about his kids. 

Neil gave a gentle laugh. “My thinking was much the same, Mr-“ 

“Andrew. Just Andrew. Neni asked me the other day if she should call me Mr. Daddy and it was possibly the weirdest thing I’ve had to do thus far in my parenthood. So Andrew will be fine from now on.” 

Neil gave another gentle laugh and looked at Andrew with some fondness. As much as it made Andrew wary, it softened him. 

“And yes. You are welcome to join us for our miserable, tiny Christmas. And no, I’m not going to not pay you,” he said, causing another tinkling laugh that stirred Andrew’s chest. 

“You’re very kind, s-... Andrew,” he amended, catching himself. Andrew sipped his drink and returned to his work without an acknowledgement of the thanks bigger than a tiny nod. 

—

Andrew gets his job back, eventually. A brief, terse phone call from Mrs Cobbs had him back on Seth Gordon’s detail with very little fuss. Jean had sent him an email explaining everything and updating him on the situation. Apparently it was a lot more dangerous for Mr Gordon after a press release where he had said some particularly controversial things. 

Andrew was sitting with Aaron at a diner, sipping coffee, when he broke the news. 

“Are you sure that’s the right move for you?” came the calculated, calm response. 

“I don’t see an alternative.” 

“What’s wrong with your current job?” 

He meant the museum. Andrew had been moved up to leading the security team because he was so overqualified. 

“I’m bored.” 

It was mostly true. 

“Andrew, taking back your old job is not some sick way of paying penance for Alli-“ 

Andrew cut him off with an idle question about Kevin, and thankfully he took the redirection of conversation, if a little reluctantly. 

“We’re getting a dog,” Aaron said softly, fondness traceable in his voice. “And he’s going to get a real job that will stop him moping about the end of his career.” 

Ah, yes. Old injury to the hand resurfacing and taking him off the court (that, and old age, but thus far Andrew had had the good graces to not say that to his face). 

“You’re still convinced you love him?” 

Aaron rolled his eyes and took a bit of icing off Andrew breakfast-cake. 

“When you find a person who gets you, and loves you despite your neurotic idiosyncrasies, and you know deep down you love them, I will find out, and I will laugh,” he said, resigned but amused. “And yes. Unfortunately, I apparently do love him. Quite considerably, seeing as though we’re getting a german shepherd. It’s going to be half my height,” Aaron groaned, the conversation flowing more easily after that. 

**MAY 29th, 10:32, 2019 **

Andrew stood in waiting, standing close to Seth Gordon, barely listening to the conversation he was having with another parliamentary official. Jean buzzed in his ear, 

“Jean to Andrew, take the client downstairs into the car waiting. Route is set from here to Downing Street to meet with the Prime Minister.” 

“Copy,” Andrew said into the radio, before opening the door. “This way, Mr Gordon.” 

Seth didn’t acknowledge him often, and usually did as he instructed, if only on the basis that Andrew knew what he was doing. 

Seth wandered much too slowly for Andrew’s preference, taking his sweet old time before he reached the car. Andrew was certain he was just doing it to waste Andrew’s time. 

Andrew opened the backseat door for him before closing it and getting into the passenger seat. The driver drove off, careful and attentive to the road. 

Andrew kept an eye out for traffic alerts, and after a few minutes of silence, said to the driver, “Go down Mayard instead of Regent.”

Seth scoffed. “Don’t listen to him. Do you want me to be late?” 

“I want you to be safe, as my job instructs me to,” Andrew replied robotically. This was pretty standard conversation for them. 

“Whatever, fag,” Seth scoffed, rolling his eyes. Andrew bristled. 

Andrew had never tousled with his sexuality for the same reason that he’d never tried to label it- he simply didn’t care enough to. 

Undeniably, Andrew had loved Allison. They’d had sex-  _ good _ sex, mind you- but Andrew had felt that same attraction drawing him towards men. Admittedly, there was only a very brief period of his life where he was able to freely experiment with men and women, and by the time he decided he probably liked sex with men more, he and Allison were well divorced anyways. He’d never cheated on her, but during their separation and after their awkward ‘let’s see other people’ discussion, Andrew had found himself at the same old club, drinking alone at a bar until he found someone to make feel good for a night. 

Andrew really couldn’t be bothered coming up with a title for it. 

But assuredly, ‘fag’ wasn’t it. 

The driver took a nervous look at Seth, then back to Andrew, and decided to drive against Andrew’s suggestion. Gritting his teeth, Andrew stared out the window, trying to analyse how long their car would be stationary in busy midmorning traffic. 

As they crawled along the street, Andrew typed a message to Jean, warning him to be on standby as they were encountering a potential threat. 

As he hit send, a bullet shattered the glass of the driver’s seat, and then all Andrew could see was blood. The driver’s, he deduced, time going in slow motion as bullets hit the car in rapid succession. 

“Get down!” he yelled, Seth’s screams audible through the gunfire, the politician covered in a dead man’s blood. 

Andrew went into instinct mode, years of training kicking him to draw him from the car, opening the backseat door to place the spare bulletproof vest over Seth’s shaking form. 

Andrew yelled at him until Seth got into the safest possible position, and then Andrew was behind the metal of the car, barely able to see the gunman but knowing there was only one, a sniper, at the top of the building. 

Andrew’s hands were tacky with blood as he gripped his gun, running behind the cars who had stopped, parents consoling children, the ones with unconscious drivers and passengers. He’d barely noticed the pile-up of vehicles they’d caused when the car had spun out of control. 

He managed to make it into the building, flashing his ID to the guards of the corporate reception, who immediately took him up upon a brief explanation of the situation. 

“I know where the shooter is positioned. There are five cars piled up outside, some with unconscious drivers,” he explained, and as a result, Andrew ascended the rooftop stairs alone. 

He thanked whatever deity blessed him for having the door to the rooftop propped marginally open, allowing him to slip through without alerting the gunman. Andrew turned down the volume on his radio and crept closer to where he knew the gunman to be. 

Three more shots were fired, followed by a long succession of them. Andrew kept his position behind some boxes, waiting for his moment to strike. 

As soon as he had a clear shot, Andrew fired, three times accounting for a margin of error, and watched the man crumple to the ground. 

Andrew let out a breath of relief, his shoulders releasing all the pent up tension. 

“Andrew to Epsilon. Threat neutralised, assistance needed on the roof.” 

—

Andrew kicked open the door to the house, exhaustion settling into his bones. He walked into the kitchen in search of coffee, hands going to where his tin used to be, and now where a tin of ceylon tea leaves sat. 

Andrew rested his forehead against the cabinets, smudging the matted and clumped blood against the white. Defeat, tiredness. 

“Andrew- oh my god,” came Neil’s polite voice, the redhead’s face etched with concern, steps quickening the closer the distance between them, concern now flooding his features as he reached out to touch Andrew’s shoulder- 

“No,” came thickly out if Andrew’s throat, a guttural release of desperation. “Don’t touch me.” 

Neil stepped back, but not away. “Is it yours?” 

The blood. “No.” 

“Are you hurt?” 

“Sprained wrist and bruised ribs,” he recounted the medic’s analysis of him. 

“Go take a shower, Andrew. I’ll make us some tea,” Neil said, putting the kettle on with little fuss. 

Curiously, Andrew noted, Neil seemed to be… very unfazed by the whole situation. 

The thought was distant, and too tired to analyse it further or even argue, he did as instructed and went to shower. 

The water was pink as it flooded the bottom of the shower, the little cuts from the broken glass of the accident stinging under the hot water. His scars got all red and puffy and as he dried himself off, he stared at his reflection. 

Gaunt, exhausted, trembling. 

He put on some clothes, wincing as he moved his upper body. 

By the time he made it downstairs, Neil was sipping tea while reading, another mug and two ibuprofen tablets on the table of the side that Andrew usually sat on. 

Neil looked up at him through his lashes, and in a moment of weakness, Andrew stared right back. 

“Can I help?” Neil asked, honest and open. 

“You are,” Andrew responded softly, nodding to him gently. 

Neil gave a soft smile, and ducked his head. “Anything I can do otherwise?” 

“Stay the night. And tomorrow night. And the night after,” Andrew said, more vulnerable and more open than he’d been in the last thirteen years. 

“I’ll have my Uncle bring my things,” Neil said softly, reaching so slowly to him, like he was telegraphing his movements. “I’d like to hold your hand, Andrew, is that okay?” he asked, ever polite in his Neil-ish way. 

Andrew felt his brain rattle and found that he was nodding. 

A cool hand cradled Andrew’s burning one with such gentleness. “You know if you ever need to-“ 

“I don’t. But thank you,” Andrew butted in, looking at the floor. 

Neil seemed to give up even finishing his sentence, but didn’t let go of his hand. And Andrew… didn’t hate it. 

Not at all. 

__

Mrs Cobbs had banished him from working for a week. 

_ “I don’t fuck with rib injuries, and if you won’t get an x-ray, I’m not letting you anywhere near fieldwork until you can walk without wincing.” _

Abby Cobbs, whose real last name was kept a secret for privacy reasons (“and plausible deniability” Jean had once muttered to Andrew) wasn’t even married, to Andrew’s knowledge, but in honesty, he had never asked. Abby took no shit from any single person. 

And when Andrew walked into the kitchen and saw Neil helping his kids get ready for school, joking and happy and laughing, Andrew said a prayer of thanks to her. 

“Daddy!” came the happy cheer of his youngest. “I never see you anymore, Daddy. Neil said you need a holiday,” Nicky said brightly, clinging to Andrew’s thigh. 

Andrew looked up at Neil with a bemused expression, and the other man had the decency to look embarrassed. He opened his mouth to defend himself, but Nicky kept chatting. 

“Daddy, you should eat breakfast and then go back to sleep. You look tired,” he said softly, and Andrew brushed a hand through his son’s fine, blond hair. 

“I will, buddy. Now I think Neil has to get you to the bus stop, or you’ll be late to school!” 

Neil grinned sheepishly. “I’d actually taken to driving them. They always ask, and you said it was alright as long as I had a booster seat fitted for Nicky,” he said, braiding Vivienne’s hair as he spoke. 

Andrew smiled a little with how much the thought of riding in Neil’s car brought his son. The boy was practically buzzing with excitement. 

“I see. Well, you have a little more time then,” he said sitting at the table and smiling when Nicky pulled him up to sit in his lap, taking his phone from his hand to play his Ben10 game. 

Andrew chatted between his kids and Neil, listening to Vivienne’s plans for the upcoming science fair. Andrew had no doubt she’d win. He’d bred a genius and would scream to the last man on Earth about how proud he was of her. 

“Neni, you should go pack your bag, sweetpea, or we really will be late,” Neil said standing up and taking everyone’s plates and bowls to the sink. 

Unbelievably, she did as Neil asked without complaint or snarky comment. Andrew looked to the redheaded man curiously, wondering what secrets he held. 

“She probably is more comfortable around you and feels that she can express dislike and anger around you. It sounds strange, but it’s a good thing that she fights with you,” Neil said from the kitchen, like he had telepathy. 

Andrew stood and watched Nicky scamper off, probably to go annoy Vivienne. 

Andrew helped Neil pack the dishwasher, mundane, easy things. He got a little too lost in thought and dropped a plate. 

“Ah, shit, sorry,” he said, both of them dropping to their knees to pick up the shards of plate, sighing to himself in embarrassment. 

“It’s okay, happens to the best of us,” Neil said, meeting his eyes, and Andrew became all too aware of how close their faces were. Neil’s gaze dropped to Andrew’s lips, never daring to move forward. 

Andrew stared back, holding onto the sharp bits of plate, lips dropping open without his express consent. 

“Neil,” Andrew said softly, more a breath in the shape of a word. 

“Andrew,” he responded, eyes now locked onto his lower lip. “Can I..?” 

Andrew leaned forward, abandoning the shards of plate without breaking his eye contact. “Can you what?” he asked, hand very slowly and gently settling itself in the crook of Neil’s neck. 

“Andrew, can I kiss you?” he asked, eyes blinking slowly, fluttering when Andrew’s thumb traced the line of his Adam’s apple. 

Andrew waited him out, seeing how long he’d wait, and saw that Andrew could continue to hold his neck and stare at him and Neil would be completely content. 

“Yes,” he said softly, and Neil surged forward almost on instinct, letting their lips fall together, Andrew’s hand stabilising them over the broken plates. 

Neil’s lips were soft and adapting and gentle, letting Andrew kiss him as if in a dreamy daze, floating. Neil kissed back slowly, adjusting, hands staying by his side. 

Andrew pulled away eventually, lips tingling and eyes slowly opening. “Neil, I…” 

“Daddy! You dropped a plate! Are you okay?” came Nicky’s concerned voice, going immediately to help. 

The only time, Andrew would consider himself flustered, he stammered and felt his cheeks flood with heat. “Nicky, don’t worry, we’ll clean it up, you’ll hurt you hands, buddy,” Andrew said, feigning calmness, ignoring Neil’s pretty, snarky smile he hid as he stood to get the broom. 

Andrew cleaned up quietly, watching as Vivienne returned to the kitchen, sitting herself up on the bench. Neil grabbed his keys after a moment. 

“Take the day off, Andrew. You look ghastly,” Neil said, taking the kids bags and winking as he walked out the door.

Andrew rolled his eyes, but felt his cheeks heat for the second time that morning. 

  
  


—

  
  


Andrew walked into the emergency room, impatiently snapping at the receptionist, insisting he be taken to the room that held Vivienne, only to be left outside the room. 

When the nurse, who seemed a little frightened, took him to a little room in the children’s ward, he barely acknowledged him in favour of looking at his daughter through the room window, pale and tired looking, arm swaddled close to her body. 

Sharply, he looked at Neil. “What did the doctor say?”

The blue eyed man didn’t even flinch at his harsh tone, he just calmly replied, “A fractured wrist and maybe a broken rib. They didn’t want to call an ambulance because she insisted that they didn’t, so I drove her. You didn’t pick up your phone and I didn’t want to wait-” 

“You did the right thing, Neil. Thank you,” he said, voice clipped but gentling slowly. He took a measured breath, waiting impatiently for the doctor to come by and let them into the room. “Stupid hospital, won’t even let us see her.” 

Neil very gently brushed their hands together, telegraphing the movement before carefully taking his hand. Andrew threaded their fingers together and held his hand, not an ounce of shame in his body. He’d never cared for the opinions of others, and found Neil’s respectfulness to his boundaries ever-so endearing. He wasn’t bad with touch anymore, mostly attributed to Allison, who’d been patient and caring, and the kids, who were too young to understand. He had his bad days, but he could hug and kiss and hold hands without any panic or discomfort. 

Neil looked to him gently, mouth curled into a smile. “You know, she said that you always tell them that hospitals are slow and inefficient, and she told the nurse as much.” 

Andrew gave a short huff of breath that Neil clearly took as laughter. As their soft laughs petered out, Neil stared at Andrew. 

“Andrew, this morning I… I liked kissing you. Very much,” he said sweetly, a touch of trepidation in his voice. “But I don’t want to put you in a strange ethical position where I’m technically your employee and a caretaker for your children.” 

Andrew nodded gently, understanding. “I agree with you. Maybe… we should put this… not that there is much of a ‘this’, but maybe we should put it on hold. But know that your sentiments are… quite returned,” he said softly, just as the doctor rounded the corner. 

\-- 

Vivienne’s ribs were only bruised, and her arm was in a black splint. She was knocked out cold by some hard pain meds, sleeping blissfully. Andrew stayed in her room, carefully making sure she was alright, because his baby was hurt, and he couldn’t allow this to happen again. 

He rested his elbows on his knees burying his face in hands, looking at his little girl. He loved her with his whole heart, an all consuming need to protect. He couldn’t do anything except watch her, guilt settling into his bones. 

He recalled the day she was born, the way she had screamed. He had held her so tentatively, looking at her rosy little face, unmoving and unsettled in her new, bright surroundings. 

He remembered when she’d first opened her eyes. The blue took him right back, bright and clear and so sweet. Her eyes were so wet but she seemed to calm in Andrew’s arms, Allison wanting very little to do with her after the birth. Andrew had held her against his chest and vowed to never let anything hurt her. 

Even himself. 

“Andrew,” Neil called from the door. “Andrew, you need to sleep.”

He looked up, eyes heavy, staring at him like he wasn’t quite real. Neil very quietly crept into the room, sitting on the arm of the chair that Andrew and Allison had bought for nursing Vivienne when she was a baby. Andrew’s hand gently reached for Neil’s, holding the fine bones and tendons laced with scars. 

“Come to bed, Andrew. She’s not going anywhere, and you have to work tomorrow. She’ll be okay,” Neil said softly, hand very, very slowly going into Andrew’s hair. Gentle fingers scratched over Andrew’s scalp and he barely restrained himself from giving a full body shudder. He melted into the touch, completely without his own permission. 

“I thought we-” 

“I’m not trying to make a move on you, Andrew,” Neil said, amused in equal parts to curious. “I’m caring for you. Do you mean to tell me you don’t know the difference?” 

Andrew stayed silent, praying that Neil’s hand wouldn’t stop. His eyes slipped to half mast.

“Andrew,” came Neil’s voice, a pang of sympathy, or empathy, or something that felt foreign against Andrew’s ears, the gentleness of it all suddenly getting under his skin. He warred with himself, pulling himself away from the tender touch and feeling something wounded unfurl in his chest, crying out in protest. He kept his face impassive, standing, letting go of Neil’s hand. 

“You should also get into bed, Neil. Vivienne will wake up and try to go to school, and she’s definitely not going.” 

Neil nodded, face a blank page. “Yes, I imagined as much. Goodnight, Andrew,” he said, opening the door for him, letting Andrew walk through. Andrew thanked him quietly. 

“Goodnight, Neil,” he said, the words clunky and awkward in his mouth, hands for the first time aching to touch, to tug him closer and hug him to his chest, just to finally breathe. 

He shut his bedroom door and tried to sleep, staring at the ceiling under exhaustion took him under. 

**AUGUST 9TH, 2019, 8:21 **

Andrew stood at the door of a board meeting, staring at the sharks of Britain’s political elite interact with Seth, who’d only returned to work a few weeks ago after the latest attempt on his life. 

Andrew had pulled him to the ground just in time to protect him against the shards of bomb detritus and shrapnel from the infrastructure of the auditorium where Seth was giving a speech. 

Andrew had sustained most of the damage, his arms shredded from sharp shards of plastic and metal, blown to bits from the impact of the bomb. Neil hadn’t even blinked when he’d come home covered in gauze and bandages. 

He had, however, given him a very tender kiss to the head and held him as he made them both a cup of tea. 

His arms were still bandaged up under his black button up shirt, and the warm dress jacket he had to wear. He stood towards the door, maintaining his position and trying not to listen too hard to the blatant homophobia and racism coming out of Seth’s mouth. 

Andrew felt his head pound. Christ, it had been almost a year since he lost Allison. Almost a year that he’d known Neil. Almost a year of days dragging on until they bled together, separated only by seeing his kids at the end or the beginning of days. He needed this job, he was  _ good  _ at it, but as he didn’t love it anymore. He wasn’t sure he ever did. 

Neil had suggested he see a therapist. 

“No,” had been his short response. 

“Why?” Neil asked, eyes flat and frustrated. 

“You listen to me for free,” he responded, earning him a roll of the eyes and a pale hand slipping into his own. 

Andrew wasn’t sure what he and Neil had was called, but he had never really cared for labels. They weren’t friends, but they weren’t adversaries. They were on the precipice of something broader, bigger, but there wasn't any tension. It was… comfortable. 

But Andrew wouldn’t lie and say he hadn’t ever considered Neil, on his back, under him, crying out, in weakness and desperation. The longer they danced around one another, the more self control Andrew had to exercise in his presence. Occasionally, Andrew would catch himself staring at Neil’s freckles, counting them. Only once, a very quiet night, when both kids had gone to sleep and Neil was sitting on the couch, resting his head on Andrew’s shoulder, and Andrew could see the constellations of freckles on Neil’s shoulder and neck. In a moment of sheer forgetfulness, Andrew bent to kiss them. 

Neil had given a tight shudder, but hadn’t mentioned it aside. Andrew had neglected to repeat the action, considering that with one kiss would probably come another, and another, and another. 

Andrew stood by the door and prayed the day would end. He was sick of following around this fucking prick of a politician, sick of having to encounter violence. He didn’t want this. He was so fucking tired. 

He stared at the back of Seth’s head and allowed himself a slow exhale through his nose, quieting his loud thoughts. He watched the screen of the news, the parallels of the day he lost Allison all too consuming. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Just as Seth stood to shake hands with the minister of some sort, Andrew’s personal phone chimed. On the screen, he saw a number. 

_ 7 I’m watching.  _

He blocked the number after memorising it and noted to run a scan on it once he returned to the office. Threats like these didn’t really bother Andrew, he would receive them every so often. Photos of him often surfaced behind Seth, and stalkers or private investigators often contacted him in this way. 

He pocketed his phone and opened the door for Seth, walking in front of him through the building. 

\-- 

Neil was helping Nicky with his maths homework while Vivienne sat in the big arm chair and read. Andrew hated to disturb the peaceful scene, abandoned milkshakes sitting on the bench of the kitchen. 

“Milkshakes not good?” he asked, tired out of his bones, and Neil must have noticed because he turned and gave him a gentle smile. 

“Cinnamon was too strong, I think,” he said, eyes searching Andrew to see if he was hurt, or sick. Andrew bent to kiss Nicky’s head, looking at the maths he was doing. 

“You look like you’re doing well,” he said, ruffling his son’s hair. 

“He is. Lots of improvement, he’s going to be best in class,” Neil said, nudging Nicky with his elbow, and the boy beamed brightly at Andrew. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna be an astronaut!” 

Andrew smiled down to him, ruffling his hair before seeing all the dirt in it. “Go shower, space cadet.” 

Andrew looked back to Neil after a moment of watching Nicky run to the bathroom, followed by a crashing noise that rose Vivienne up from her chair and walking towards the bathroom. 

Neil sighed softly, reeking of contentment. “She’s very responsible, your girl.” 

Andrew searched Neil’s eyes for subtext, for the underlying message, but couldn’t find it. The big, crystal blue eyes were just entirely peaceful and kind. Andrew felt something brush against his thumb before distantly realising that it was Neil’s cheek, cupped by his own hand. 

“Andrew, I-” 

“Tell me about your scars,” was the sentence he spoke, feeling the ridges and edges of the scar tissue that marred Neil’s face. 

Andrew wouldn’t lie and say that it wasn’t the first thing he noticed about him. Now, with his particular affections, he could say that it was Neil’s eyes or lips that first caught his attention but he knew, just to himself, that the deep, or raised, pink or white scars that seared across all visible skin- hands, face, neck, shoulders- were the first thing to fully enrapture Andrew. 

Neil eyes went to half mast as Andrew’s hands slipped around his neck and into his hair, scratching over his scalp. Andrew savoured every moment where Neil allowed himself sink into the touch, lips parted and eyelashes lowered to fan over his cheeks. 

“Andrew, you… you have to promise to stay,” came the words from a voice that seemed so tortured, torn apart in a difficult decision. “I can’t leave you, or the kids, I can’t. It’d kill me. So promise, that no matter what you hear, you promise to stay.” 

And it took everything in Andrew, every single thing that ever existed or will exist within in to trust the picture of vulnerability in front of him. And there, right there, Andrew could have just signed away his kids, his entire life, in favour of trusting this man before him. In that moment, Andrew put everything on the line when he said, 

“I promise.” 

And so Neil told him. 

Of Baltimore, of torture, of his teammates that pulled him away when he was on the last breaths of his life. The Butcher, the Nest, Riko Moriyama, Lola- the villains that tried to tear Neil apart both figuratively and literally. Neil bared himself until there was nothing left to tell, every detail laid out for Andrew to see, to accept or reject. 

Neil told him of Nathaniel. The person he buried deep within himself. The atrocities he’d seen and committed himself. The fire he lit that burned the body of his own mother. Getting thrown around from team to team as a child. The self-isolation. 

The team therapist, Bee. The care he finally allowed people to give him. The love he learned to accept. Learning how to settle down. Leaving roots, having a name, stopping the hair-dying and the contacts. Getting a job, outside of Exy, outside of everything. Caring for kids in a way he was never cared for. Learning about giving back in a way that was parallel to his own trauma. 

Neil spoke until his voice was hoarse, until they had migrated from standing in the kitchen to sitting on the couch. Andrew’s hand was holding one of Neil’s, the other on the pale and freckled neck, rubbing over the bones and tendons until Neil’s head hung forward and his voice tapered out. 

“Say something,” came a tiny whisper from the crook of Andrew’s neck, a pretty head cushioned by soft curls. 

“You’re an idiot, Josten,” he whispered, before pressing a feather-light kiss to his temple. “for ever thinking I’d let you leave.” 

Neil gave a tiny nod and Andrew’s whole being trembled with the restraint it took to not hold onto him, kiss him breathless and remind him that Andrew was in so deep that he doubted he could leave the redhead even if he wanted to. Instead, he held him and rubbed over the vertebrae in his back until all of Neil’s weight was on him, in his arms. 

Once Neil was on the precipice of falling asleep, Andrew stood slowly and laid him down properly, bending to press the gentlest of kisses to his forehead. 

“Where are you going?” Neil asked, sleepiness evident in his voice. “You promised.” 

“I should check Nicky hasn’t fallen over in the bath. I’ll be back,” he said softly, propping the red curls up on a pillow so he wouldn’t hurt his neck. 

Neil gave a lazy nod before falling well and truly asleep. Andrew allowed himself ten seconds to sit and behold the sight before moving to check on Nicky and Vivienne, both asleep, surrounded by toys and books respectively. 

He kissed both their heads and headed into the kitchen to wash up the abandoned milkshakes. 

His gaze carried across to Neil a few times, visible in the living room through well-placed gaps in the walls. Andrew cursed himself for not having a firmer grip. He finished washing up and began pouring himself a glass of whiskey from the high up and locked cabinet. Andrew stood by the bench and drank until he relaxed every taut muscle, raising the glass to his lips and looking out the living room window. 

In red, splashed across the panes, ‘WIFE. DAUGHTER. SON.’ but in the same crimson, wife had a strikethrough. Distantly he heard something shatter and absently realised it was his glass. 

“Andrew, what’s- oh my god,” came Neil’s voice, but it was delicate and fuzzy in Andrew’s ears. “Andrew, look at me. Don’t look at anything else but me,” he whispered, careful not to touch. 

Everything was swirling, walls crumbling like his state of mind was some twisted Babylon. He looked at Neil and focused on his face, holding onto his freckled forearms with an iron grip. 

“Now focus on your breathing, focus on getting as much air in and releasing even more, okay?” Neil spoke softly, voice even and slow. 

Andrew blinked hard, trying to do as he said and focus on the breathe running through his system and slowing it until he could see clearly. His eyes were locked on Neil’s, breath slowing. 

“Tell me what’s going on, Andrew.” 

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and he reached to look at it.

_ 6 hope you liked our message. sleep with one eye open _

Andrew showed it to Neil. “It started yesterday, I didn’t think anything of it, I…” 

Neil took the phone and put it on the bench. “We need to get out of here, Andrew, if they know where you live, and they have a hit list on your family…” 

“I can’t leave my work, not like this. And it will look too suspicious if we just pack up and leave…” he said, trying to calm himself down. “There’s a place that Allison owned, in France, in the south. Rocamadour. It’s quiet, she went there for like, three months after the divorce. And after both their births,” Andrew said, looking up the stairs absently. “Tomorrow evening, I’ll book the plane tickets, and I’ll come meet you when I can.” 

Neil looked at Andrew hopelessly. “Are you sure this is what you want?” 

Andrew looked at him, eyes hard and determined. “Yes.” 

  
  


**AUGUST 16TH, 11:28, 2019 **

Andrew paced the hallway while Seth had weird middle-of-the-day sex with his assistant in his office . He’d received the text from a burner phone with the codeword from Neil ensuring him that he and the kids had arrived Rocamadour safely and had settled in. 

Seth emerged, not even caring if people saw the waify girl slip from his office, buttoning up her badly retucked blouse as she wandered back to her cubicle. 

Seth barely regarded Andrew before walking down the stairs and in the elevator, checking his phone as Andrew took his position around him. Andrew didn’t even have to register his movements- when he was working, he was a different person; alert, focused on the protection and safety of his mark. Even if his mark was a pig. 

Andrew waited outside the bathroom before Seth took his seat in the lecture hall, Andrew standing in the aisle nearby, talking into his comms low and clear. He watched carefully, and moved into the wings, to the side of the stage, watching Seth give his presentation, following through on most of the things that made Neil fume- less welfare, higher taxes, more money spent on big business rather than on hospitals and education. 

Andrew didn’t see it, strictly speaking, but he felt it- a stillness in the air, the quieting of communication devices- like in slow motion, he checked his phone, seeing the ‘NO SERVICE’ symbol like a terrible omen. 

He met eyes with a few of the security guards and gave them the obligatory nod and hand gesture indicating bomb threat. 

Just as the other members of security began to evacuate, instruct, there was a fizzle and ear-splitting eruption that pushed Andrew to the ground; one moment he was sprinting towards Seth, the next there was a numbing sensation in his arm, then stinging on his face. Vaguely the hot trickle of blood running down his forehead and cheek brought him back to his senses, trying to stand. Dust was flying everywhere, making his vision go blurry, eyes unfocused, before everything went white, and he lost consciousness. 

\-- 

He woke up in a hospital bed, Mrs Cobbs in the flesh sitting opposite him. He wasn’t sure what he was hooked up to; various machines, beeping machines, some dripping liquids into tubes that were being fed into him. 

The room was as cliche as physically possible, clean, clinical, whites and very pale blues and that sanitary smell that would undoubtedly cling to Andrew until he got to shower. 

“You know, the hospital only ever calls a patient’s employer when they don’t have an emergency contact and they need emergency surgery,” comes the slow, crisp voice from the chair opposite him. 

Andrew wasn’t sure what he would say if he opened his mouth so he just stayed quiet and looked at her with a half-lidded gaze, glossy and dazed from residual anaesthesia and painkillers. 

“Seth Gordon is dead.” Andrew eyes perked up at that. “Which works well for you because you’re fired. For now, at least. You’ve gained far too much attention to yourself, between this and the October Attack, the media is grasping onto you. Apparently they tried to dox you, but they could only find your old address and home phone number.” 

Andrew nodded, as best he could, through all this, staring at her as he felt his eyes get heavier and heavier. He tried listening even as he fell back into dark, dreamless sleep. 

\-- 

When Andrew woke again, he was feeling more human, more in control. Doctors had come and gone, clearly, and Andrew didn’t even know what day it was. He hadn’t heard from Neil, and so as per their agreement, it means he couldn’t have been out more than 48 hours. 

He scanned his phone and tried to make the words on the small screen stopping spinning like some bad acid trip. He stupidly felt his throat choke up because all he really wanted was to go see Neil, and his kids, and make sure they were okay. Stupidly, he blinked away the hot stinging sensation that barely crossed the threshold but threatened to now. 

That’s when he saw the man in the corner of his room. His heart gave a great lurch and he’s sure his lips may have parted in surprise, but anything else was lost to a mix of delayed reaction time from painkillers and a trained lack of response to fear. 

“Who are you?” Andrew managed to ground out from the back of his throat, tired and exhausted merely from speaking. 

“Stuart Hatford. I’m Neil’s uncle.” 

He was a tall, lean guy with a somewhat receding hairline well covered up by the remaining hair styled nicely to give the illusion of volume. He wore a suit with a long dark trench and black gloves, and there was a bag on the chair next to him. Andrew could see a resemblance- the clear, blue eyes, the slightly mishappen nose, and the weird accent that sometimes poked out in places that made it hard to know where he grew up. 

“Paternal?” 

“It’s a very important distinction to make, I assure you. Maternal, however, and I’m here to help you. Neil sent me the information on you and the attack, and I was sent for retrieval.” 

“He’s never mentioned you.” 

“I’m doing what I can to reinstate myself after he became an orphan.” 

Andrew was too tired and too vulnerable to verbally spar or analyse every inch of him for a scrap of dishonesty. He didn’t trust him, not for a moment, but he was too exhausted and missed his kids so much that he made an effort to try. 

“Let me speak to Neil.” 

“He’s whatever rustic backwater channel of France you left him in. Couldn’t leave your kids, that’s why I’m here.” 

“I meant on the phone.”

Stuart rolled his eyes and handed him a black, sleek looking thing, that, in honesty, Andrew struggled to navigate, but eventually found N. J. in his contacts and hit the number. The line connected but there was silence, with a very slight edge of white noise. 

“Neil?” Andrew croaked, and by god, he was struggling not to cry with whatever cocktail of painkillers being pumped into him messing with his self-control. 

“Drew?” came the tinny response and then and tiny tear slipped out of his eye, rolling towards his ear from where he was laying. 

“Tell me you’re safe.” 

Neil’s breathy, near-hysterical laugh came then. “Yes, Andrew, we’re safe, we’re all safe. The kids have just gone to bed, they spent all day wandering around the town with me, they’re so tired. But they like it here. I miss you,” came the rushed response, and Andrew drank up every word. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to protect Neil and his kids. 

“I’m coming. As soon as I can, I’ll get on a plane and go.”

“I know. That’s why my uncle is there. He’s going to check you out of the hospital and get you on a plane here to finish recovering in safety before we come back home.” 

Andrew gave a short breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. “Okay.” 

“Andrew, are you okay?” Neil asked, voice now edged with concern. 

“My phone is broken. I didn’t see your messages.” 

Neil gave a long sigh, sympathy etching his voice. “Drew. We’re safe. You know we’re safe. Do you want to talk to the kids?” 

Andrew coughed slightly and responded, “No. Don’t wake them. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

“Okay. Be safe.” 

And the line went dead. Andrew idly handed the phone back, before staring at the ceiling, feeling something in his chest twist. 

  
  


**AUGUST 22ND, 23:43, 2019 **

Andrew sat on the plane, leg bouncing in anticipation, feeling the plane decline towards the airport, the pilot giving an announcement in French that Andrew couldn’t even bother understanding because he felt like he was going to fucking explode, he fucking hates heights- 

“God, calm down. You’re literally fine,” Stuart said, but his voice wasn’t frustrated, more a sorry attempt at consoling. Andrew looked at him, and his sharp features were curdled in something akin to concern, like it was foreign feeling. 

“Why do you care?” 

“Because if my nephew is so attached to you he made me cross continents to come get you, then I’m sure it’s worth my while trying to be nice to you.” 

Andrew rolled his eyes and gripped the armrest of the chair and suppressed the urge to scream at a shrieking baby. Stuart was still looking at him. 

“Are you two- I mean, I don’t want to assume, but-” 

Andrew cast him a withering glare so intense he momentarily forgot he was on an aircraft that was rapidly declining. “If you’re asking if we’re fucking, the answer is no.” 

“Alright,” Stuart responded with a quietness that sounded like he had more questions, but Andrew didn’t really care. 

After surviving the landing of the plane, Andrew collected his small bag of luggage and walked through the terminal. His left arm was in a sling and his right foot in a splint, and Andrew was probably due for a new round of painkillers, but he was focused on getting to Neil. 

The train ride was long, but Andrew barely felt it, eyes slipping closed from the weight of the painkillers and letting them carry him out for as long as he could manage, holding onto the dullness of sleep until Stuart nudged him awake. 

He stood and walked off the train, feeling foggy and lethargic until he heard a shriek of, 

“Daddy!” 

Suddenly Nicky was bolting forward and clinging to Andrew’s good leg, crying as Andrew ruffled his hair and knelt- albeit awkwardly- to hug him into his side. Vivienne came then, cupping Andrew’s cheeks and scanning him for injuries before bursting into tears. Andrew cooed to her and kissed her cheek, holding them. Neil eventually picked up Nicky, who squirmed in those pale, scarred arms so he could still see Andrew. Stuart helped Andrew stand. 

“You’re okay?” Neil asked, voice soft and tentative, a very gentle tremor running through it, holding Andrew’s forearms until he was standing and their hands slipped together, intertwining. 

“I’m okay,” he confirmed, low and gravelly, looking at Neil for so long he felt his eyes go misty. Andrew didn’t remember much of the drive from the train station, he just remembered Neil tucking him into his side protectively and whispering in his ear until his drifted back to sleep. 

“Andrew,” came a soft voice, close to his ear. “Andrew, we’re here.” 

Neil very gently jostled him until his eyes came fluttering open, staring at those bright blue eyes, and the scars around him. In a moment of weakness, his heart lurched and he almost reached forward and pulled Neil’s lips to his own, right there in the back of Stuart’s car. 

But he didn’t. He just stared at his lips and Neil stared at his until he swallowed and looked up. “Where are the kids?” he asked, not proud of the tremor in his voice. 

“Inside already. They wanted to watch a program on telly,” he answered, voice so breathy and desperate. “Andrew, I thought you were dead.” 

Neil, damn him, had crawled past every one of his guards, his walls and was now so firmly burrowed in Andrew’s heart that stoicism and coldness departed him. 

“I’m not,” he whispered, hands going to Neil’s cheeks, looking him in the eyes. “Neil, look at me,” he instructed, echoing Neil’s own words. “I’m right here. Not going anywhere.” 

Neil nodded and fell into Andrew’s good shoulder, burying his face in the crook there. “I thought I was going to have to tell the kids.” 

Andrew rubbed his back gently and felt the vertebrae there, letting him say his piece. The fine shake in his body made Neil’s heart ache. 

“I thought I’d be alone again.” 

Andrew held his neck, rubbing up the back, scratching through the curls there. “Baby,” he whispered, holding onto him. Andrew was undoubtedly a softie now. Aaron was going to give him an endless amount of shit for it, but with a sniffling, shaking Neil in his arms he couldn’t help but melt into the embrace and give him all the love his kids had taught him how to give. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Neil shivered into his shoulder until he calmed, eventually pulling away and putting their foreheads together. His hands came up to Andrew’s neck, thumbs brushing his stubbly jaw and turning his neck to his press his lips to Andrew’s forehead. 

It was foreign for them both, this intimacy they were drowning themselves in, a sinking ship of closeness and gentleness. Andrew’s calloused hand sat on Neil’s waist as he breathed slowly, the air warm with breath. Idly he noticed the fine sheets of rain that surrounded their car as Andrew reassociated himself to Neil’s presence. 

It was headier than sex, more intimate than exchanging vows, closer than any other embrace- it was  _ heavenly _ , leaving Andrew feeling untouchable. 

“We’re not separating again,” Neil whispered, looking at Andrew, clear blue staring into glazed hazel. Andrew could only nod, their lips brushing from the action. As Neil gravitated towards him, Andrew moved his face away. Neil’s face ended up pressed into Andrew’s good shoulder. 

“Why won’t you kiss me again?” came the breathless, desperate whisper, lips against Andrew neck, making Andrew give a fine shudder. Andrew held Neil’s head, tightening his hand in his hair, pulling him back so he could whisper in his ear. 

“If I kiss you now, I can’t guarantee that I’ll stop before fucking you right here.” 

Andrew felt Neil’s throat bob against his collarbone, and kissed his cheek in the spot next to his ear. 

In the low light of streetlights in the nighttime, fallen unbeknownst to them, Andrew could see the flush on Neil’s cheeks, the restraint clear in his expression. “Fuck, Andrew.” 

At that moment, the weakest moment in Andrew’s resolve, where he might have leaned in and brushed their lips together, Stuart tapped on the window. 

“Are you alive in there?” he called out, getting soaked in the rain. Neil jumped in surprise and laughed almost hysterically in Andrew’s shoulder. 

They crawled out the car, bones creaking with disuse, legs wobbly from being tangled together for so long. 

\-- 

Neil held Andrew’s hand as they watched Vivienne play in the orchestra, the cello much too big for her slim frame, but beautiful sounding nonetheless. Other parents showed no interest or care for their joint hands, subtle and gentle in the darkness of the school hall. 

Andrew looked at Neil in the low lighting, how the shadows made his face soften, the edges of his eyes cast downwards like a doe, eyelashes a reddish-blonde, long and fluttery against his freckled cheeks. 

It’d only been two weeks of living in France, Andrew working under an alias as a local historical museum where the owner was kind and let his kids hang there after they finished school. Vivienne and Nicky had caught onto French quickly, stumbling over words with the local kids, playing in neighbour’s meadows and fields. 

Andrew traded his all black uniform for loose white shirts and dark, comfortable trousers. Neil had found a half-paid half-volunteer work at the school, doing admin work in a language he was apparently very familiar with. 

The house was a quiet cottage, the neighbours calm and friendly without being nosy. The autumn was singing with birds, warm sunny afternoons and chilly evenings; Andrew learning to tend to his garden from Allison’s gardeners who he eventually let go because he couldn’t afford to keep them. 

It was good. It was peaceful. And slowly, surely, he felt himself become less like Andrew Minyard and more like Trevor McCallan, the Englishman who moved to his late wife’s estate in France due to grief. 

  
  


**JANUARY 3RD, 05:42, 2020 **

  
  


Andrew stared at the ceiling, seeing the cracks in the paint, wondering if he should fix it. Neil was curled into his side, head on Andrew’s chest, sleeping peacefully. Andrew brushed his fingers through the looser curls, staring at his untroubled and peaceful face, eyes twitching beneath the lids. Idly, Andrew wondered what he was dreaming about. 

Days ago, Neil had crept into Andrew’s bed, sweating and shaking, eyes wet and face blanched. Andrew had wordlessly pulled him close, giving him space and reassurance until he fell asleep, ear pressed to Andrew’s left pec, undoubtedly listening to his heartbeat. 

Andrew barely missed England, he couldn’t imagine ever going back; but Neil was getting restless. The peace and quiet of little town gave him nowhere to go. Stuart came in and out once a month, and Andrew didn’t miss how Neil pressed for information. Andrew guessed his missed the anonymity of the city; he missed being faceless, another lost soul on the way to the rat race. 

The connections, the ‘everyone-knows-everyone’ mentality of Rocamadour made Neil want to crawl out of his skin and Andrew could tell. A layover from years of running away, Andrew guessed. Even under an alias, it felt all too familiar. 

That afternoon, while Andrew tended to the garden, pulling out weeds and feeling sweat trickle down the back of his neck even in the cold. He brushed the light snowflakes off of his roses, not wanting them to get weighed down and snap their stems. 

Sometimes, Neil reminded him of a rose. Too long in France was going to weigh him down until eventually, he snapped. 

He’d never say anything, never ever, because he knew the necessity- but when Neil didn’t sleep through the night in favour of running around the town until he reached the edges. When he came back sweating, shaking, exhausted but alive feeling, Andrew felt the foreign tendrils of guilt curling up his throat. 

Andrew had held him as best he could, grounding him back to a place where he could fall asleep for however long he had left. 

The snow squeaked beneath his old Met Police issue boots, as Andrew opened the door to the house, wandering the bathroom, pulling off his shirt as he walked through. The kids were at the park with some friends and Neil was doing the grocery shopping for them. 

Andrew, in just his trousers, sweaty and flushed, walked into the en suite of the master bedroom. 

“Maybe I should stay home more often if that’s how you dress when you’re alone,” came Neil’s voice from the corner of the room, perched on the windowsill. Andrew turned to him, lips drawn up in a smirk. 

“Maybe you should tell me when you’re home.”

Neil grinned from where he was sitting and slowly unwound himself from his position, tugging off the jersey of his old team, revealing a scarred, pale chest and abdomen. 

“Now we’re even,” he said, voice getting breathier the longer he looked at Andrew. His hands hovered before settling on his hips, fingers just brushing his bare skin. The pads of his forefingers slipped under, very slightly, the edge of the trousers, before coming to meet at the button at the front. Neil thumbed over silver button, big eyes looking at Andrew, searching his face for any discomfort. 

“What do you want, Neil?” Andrew asked, bare hands going to Neil’s neck, before slipping into his hair, tugging until his eyes fluttered. 

It was a game of chicken, that ultimately led to breathless handjobs against walls, a familiar test. But there was a fire that had otherwise been absent in Neil’s eyes that made Andrew’s breath catch. 

“Are you going to kiss me?” Neil asked, eyes opening a fraction, lust pouring out of the slits. 

Andrew gave his hair a sharp tug and was met with a soft gasp, hands tightening on his jeans. “Is that what you want?” 

Neil gave nod as he touched his upper lip with his tongue, making Andrew’s blood run hot. “Very much so.” 

Andrew leaned in close until lips were barely a touch away from each other, eyes meeting. Neil surged forward and Andrew swiftly moved from him, lips going to his pulse point. 

“Andrew, ple-,” came a tormented whimper, cut off by Andrew’s hand coming over Neil’s mouth. 

“Not that word.” 

Neil nodded, eyes wild, pressing into Andrew’s hand and whimpering again. Andrew took his hand away. Neil bit his lip and very gently raised his hands to rest on Andrew’s neck. He bit his lip before wetting it and Andrew’s exhale must have been that much sharper because Neil’s eyes lit up even more than Andrew thought possible. 

“Andrew. Touche-moi. Je sais que tu me veux. Je suis tellement bien pour toi. Baise-moi, embrasse-moi, putain,” he whispered, tongue curling around each foreign word until Andrew’s knees went a little weak, picking him up under the thighs and dropping him on the bed, mouths meeting in one heady supernova of lust. Neil tilted his head back, chest heaving. Andrew paused, but Neil wasn’t having any of it. 

“Touch me,” he gasped, hands finding their way into Andrew’s hair- longer now that he didn’t have to cut it for work. Neil never tugged or pulled, the touches gentle in comparison to the shaking desperation he reeked of. “Fuck.” 

Andrew had to agree with him there. Andrew’s lips attached onto the tight little bud of his nipple, each of them getting harder, making Neil arch his back and whine. Andrew watched him slowly lose himself in the feeling. 

Andrew grasped at his sides as he left a fiery warpath down Neil’s chest and abs, silently thanking whoever made Neil a creature of habit and not abandoning his team’s morning and evening regime of exercise. 

Andrew slipped his hands over Neil’s sides and undid the button on his jeans with his teeth, and Neil gave a shaky, near hysterical giggle, watching, eyes rapt. “Christ.” 

“Need me to stop?” Andrew rasped, looking up through his lashes, Neil’s jeans halfway off. 

Neil shook his head quickly, lip bitten. “Need you to just fuck me, Andrew,  _ god _ .” 

“God’s not making you feel like this, I can assure you.” 

His answer was an extremely gratifying moan and the slight shake of his shoulders, the quiver of his thighs when Andrew laid a kiss below his navel. 

He tugged off his jeans, then his underwear, admiring the length before him. Neil wasn’t thick but he was long, longer than Andrew, who was thicker. 

“Andrew,  _ jesus _ , just get on with it, or I might die.” 

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Andrew teased, before slipping his tongue through the precome pooling around his tip, eliciting a whimper and moan. Andrew took him in his mouth and in his throat slowly, a long, fiery moment eating Neil up until he was embers in Andrew’s palms. 

Andrew bobbed his head until Neil cried out, tapping his shoulder like a time-out. Andrew pulled off immediately, looking up at him in search of discomfort. 

Neil panted, staring at the ceiling. “How the fuck are you so good at that,” he breathed, not really a question; looking at Andrew with something like reverence. 

Andrew ate it up and pressed a kiss to his hip, smile cruel and mean, making Neil give a shudder. 

“He likes it when I’m mean to him,” he noted, not taking his eyes away. “Are you a masochist?” he teased, letting him cool off for a moment. 

“You are most assuredly a sadist.” 

Andrew gave a startlingly clear, bright and unashamed laugh that it stopped Neil in his tracks. Andrew stared back to Neil’s wide, cool eyes. Slowly, he sat up and took Andrew’s cheeks in his hands with the utmost tenderness and kissed him slow and deep, taking Andrew’s breath and making it the very essence of his own. Andrew let himself be claimed in this way, holding onto his hips as he angled his head up to meet his lips. 

Andrew rested his forehead against Neil’s for a moment, collecting himself, before pulling him into his lap and pressing them close together until there wasn’t a part of Andrew that wasn’t wholly Neil’s, and there wasn’t a part of Neil that wasn’t wholly Andrew’s. 

When Andrew pressed into Neil, making him cry out, head thrown back, he soaked up the touches, the connection, the way that Neil shuddered and moaned and whimpered. Andrew memorised the flush of his chest and cheeks, the way he tried to cover his mouth and keep his eyes open until he couldn’t, surrendering to Andrew’s ministrations. 

Neil rocked his hips and sucked on Andrew’s neck until Andrew came in a heady rush, gasping into Neil’s shoulder and Neil into his, fingers scratching down Andrew’s back.

They stayed curled up together like that until Andrew muttered about being filthy, and unwound himself. His frame was loose as the water poured down over him, until Neil appeared at the door, looking wary and uncertain. He walked into the shower and into Andrew’s arms, and there he held him until the water went freezing and they retreated back to bed, sleeping into the evening in their warmest pyjamas. 

\-- 

With the newfound territory of pleasure and sex, Neil seemed placated, if briefly. But Andrew knew, the longer they stayed, the more damage it was doing to Neil, the more anxious he seemed to get. 

“What about Paris?” Andrew said one night, Nicky on his lap, Vivienne working on a science project at the table. 

Neil looked at him curiously from the little kitchen. “That’s my next question.” 

Andrew rolled his eyes. “What if we went. To Paris.” 

Vivienne turned around, eyes glowing. “Could we? That’d be amazing.” 

Andrew grinned at her, and chose to ignore the way Neil’s eyes softened. “We could, if Neil and Nicky want to.” 

Neil’s eyes narrowed at him. “I’m not opposed to it. I’d have to talk to my uncle about it, but yeah, it could work.” 

Andrew nodded and looked at Nicky, who had his face scrunched up. “Is it really far away?” he asked, looking unsure. 

“We wouldn’t even have to take a plane, buddy. It’d be long train ride.” 

Nicky sighed in relief. “Good. I don’t want to take planes anymore. Especially not back to England.” 

Andrew nodded and kissed his head. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

  
  


**FEBRUARY 14TH, 17:10, 2020 **

“ _ Jesus _ .” 

Andrew flicked his tongue over the darkening mark on Neil’s neck, the other wiggling his hips, trying to get Andrew in deeper, sinking into the feeling. “ It’s Andrew,” he corrected playfully, nipping at Neil’s ear as he whispered. 

Neil whacked his shoulder in response, and growled out, “Just fucking move, Andrew, I swear to  _ fuck _ ,” he moaned, feeling Andrew slide in and out of him with practised ease. The glide made Neil shake, whimpering into Andrew’s neck as he licked and sucked. Their age difference appeared in how easily Neil was wound up. 

A gift, a kiss to the jaw, playing with his hair, putting on his glasses- everything Andrew did made Neil either coo or hot and bothered. There was no in between. Andrew wasn’t sure if it was Neil thing, or the fact that Andrew was sure he was in love with someone who really, truly loved him back. 

Andrew was less so easy, but his situation was almost worse- he couldn’t sleep without Neil, found himself waiting to see Neil again, laughing at his awful jokes and his quick wit. He thought he couldn’t get any softer after the kids, but everytime Neil smiled or flushed or showed him his scars inside and out, Andrew felt his heart grow ever fonder, until he couldn’t imagine himself without Neil. 

The hotel’s shower wasn’t big enough for the both of them, even pressed together, so they showered separately, even if they stopped to kiss against the cold tiles in between. Andrew swore he could touch Neil anywhere and be in awe. They dressed in quiet, Andrew standing closer to Neil as an excuse to smell him, be in his presence. Neil did up Andrew’s shirt, doing up the little pearly buttons and grinning stupidly. 

“What’s the smile about?” 

Neil rolled his eyes and kissed his jaw. “You… you don’t wear black very much anymore. The white makes your eyes brighter, makes you seem gentler.” 

Andrew smiled gently and tugged on his black suit jacket. “I’m not gentle.” 

“I prefer it when you’re not,” Neil said, winking. 

“You’re insatiable.” 

Neil shrugged and tugged on a blue blazer over his own white shirt. Andrew wanted to strip it back off and take him apart until he trembled. 

Neil bit his lip and laid his hands on Andrew’s chest, tilting his head up to get kissed. Andrew let their lips brush, not indulging him or they’d never leave the room. 

Andrew felt Neil lean forward, tongue swiping over Andrew’s lower lip, thumb pressing his Adam’s apple into his throat, and Andrew, he tried, but he swore that even the strongest of men could fall to Neil’s tongue. 

Andrew leaned against the wall and kissed Neil back slow and deep, letting Neil open his mouth and take what he wanted. When Neil pulled away, Andrew looked flushed and well-fucked, cheeks red and eyes half closed, looking at Neil with his lips parted. 

Neil looked unbearably smug watching Andrew try to regain composure. 

\--

The kids were soundly asleep in the hotel, with Andrew leaving a message with the hotel manager not to let anyone onto the floor. It was one of the perks of having Allison’s connections. 

Andrew held Neil’s hand and led them through the streets of Paris, looking at how Neil’s hair caught the shimmery lights. 

“You know, whatever happens, if we go back, if we don’t…” Neil started, looking at him. “I want you to know that I belong to you, I’m yours. I don’t think I’ll ever be this way with anyone else, and losing you… it’d kill me.” 

Andrew nodded gently. “I know.” 

Andrew looked at him and kissed him gently, in favour of any measly or morbid words. He had no idea what was going to happen, how they were going to fix this, but as long as he had Neil with him, and his kids- he knew it was going to be alright. 

  
  
  
  



End file.
